The dress was … outrageous. In a good way. It managed to scream seduction whilst hollering elegance. Black see-through gauze featured, fluttering to mid-thigh and covering her chest, whilst allowing tantalising glimpses of the black corset-like bit underneath. Shells striped the dress in a fun, flirty line, and the whole look was complemented by the strappiest high-heeled shoes imaginable. Delicate leather lines crisscrossed her feet, cool and seductive against her skin.
‘C’est magnifique!’ the sales assistant exclaimed, clapping her hands together.
‘Merci bien.’
To her own surprise she didn’t feel even a smidgeon of self-consciousness as she walked through the mall. Instead she fizzed with a sheer intoxicating vitality, every sense heightened and fuelled by the attention she garnered.
Joe was leaning back against the limo, arms folded, the breadth of his shoulders somehow accentuated by the length of the car. His white shirt had been swapped for a black one, with the top button undone to reveal a triangle of tanned skin that tantalised her gaze. He was intent on his phone screen, and a frown slashed his forehead.
Anticipation whispered in her stomach as she neared him and he looked up. The temptation to punch the air at his expression nearly overwhelmed her but she restrained it. Instead she savoured every second of his dropped jaw, every shade of heat that glittered in his brown eyes as they swept over her, lingering in appreciation as he stepped towards her.
Her brain gave out conflicting orders—step towards him, move backwards, turn and run. Grinding her molars, she adhered her stilettoed feet to the tarmac of the car park and faced him. He was so close she could smell the tang of masculinity, the scent of arousal. Her muscles ached with a need to reach out and touch him, to trace a finger along that V of skin, to unbutton his shirt and …
No! The plan was to show him what he was missing—not to offer herself up on a plate, thereby confirming all his insulting, overbearing assumptions.
‘You ready for the restaurant?’ she asked, keeping her voice casual with a supreme effort of will. ‘I figure it will be pretty upmarket, so I want to look my best. You never know. As you’re not available I may get lucky and find some loaded French sex god to seduce instead.’
She slapped her palm to her forehead.
‘Oh, yes. I forgot. I’m not here with some cunning plan to seduce anyone. I’m here to work. To come up with a proposal for Richard and Crystal.’
Joe stepped backwards, leant against the car and raised his eyebrows. ‘You can hardly blame me for jumping to the conclusions I did.’
‘Wrong. I can totally blame you. You could have asked first. You know—like, Imogen, I’m a bit confused. Who is Steve?’
‘OK.’ Folding his arms, he met her gaze. ‘Imogen, I’m a bit confused. Who is Steve?’
‘I told you. He is my ex-boyfriend. I am a free agent, and that kiss earlier wasn’t about me being out to get anything or me being unfaithful to anyone.’
‘So what was it about?’
‘You tell me.’
His heated gaze swept over her body and then he straightened up, the glint in his eyes doused. ‘It was a moment of insanity,’ he said. ‘And I apologise. For being so unprofessional. How about we put the whole episode behind us and move forward? Truce?’
What could she say? His voice was sincere, his gaze direct. ‘Truce,’ she agreed.
The twitch of his lips was a surprise as he gestured towards her. ‘I take it that dress was chosen with the express purpose of torturing me?’
‘Absolutely. Is it working?’
‘Yes.’
Why, oh, why did he have to smile? A devastating smile sinful enough to make her hair curl. Oh, God. Perhaps this whole idea hadn’t been so brilliant after all—especially as Joe wasn’t playing the part she’d allotted him. Her tummy churned as she tried to work out what the hell was going on. Wondered if Joe had any idea either.
He opened the limo door for her and she slid inside, pulling her stomach muscles in so as not to so much as brush against him before scooting all the way across the leather seat.
Clamping her knees together, she shoved away the realisation that short and see-through, whilst effective, was also … well, short and see-through. From somewhere she had to muster the light sabre of professionalism. Hadn’t she said she was here to work? Now would be an excellent moment to do exactly that.
‘So,’ she said. ‘What do you think about Richard’s idea of a two-page proposal?’
‘I think you were right. Richard Harvey is a touch eccentric. But his idea has its merits. We’ll have a quick decision for the minimum outlay of time.’ He paused. ‘I do realise he’s thrown you in at the deep end, though. I’m thinking about calling Belinda off a project so that she can come and look at the apartment.’
Joe’s words were as effective as a bucket of ice, dousing elation in reality. How stupid was she? It hadn’t even occurred to her that she wouldn’t be the one to put together the proposal. Forget stupid and substitute nonsensical. Her job at Langley was as a PA—sure, she’d dabbled in interior design, but Belinda had proper qualifications and expertise and was the obvious choice to go up against Graham.
Richard had asked for her presence, but he hadn’t specified that Imogen worked on the proposal. She was just a point of contact and she should have realised that herself. If she hadn’t been too busy living in some sort of fantasyland.
All too aware of Joe’s gaze on her face, she looked out of the window, not wanting him to read the hurt or the sheer embarrassment that was no doubt etched there, relieved when the limo pulled to a stop.